Our Debt
by XxFrostbitten ReaperxX
Summary: When all hope is lost, when the war has taken its toll and death has swiped his hand over the planet, there is no turning an eye to it. No going back. So instead, they look forward. To win, to laugh, to live. And despite the pain, as they look forward, farther down the road, they find their lost hope, and it is her debt to repay them by giving back what they lost. [BBx[OC]xSS]
1. In the Rubble

**Title:  
**Our Debt

**Chapter:  
**In the Rubble

**Pairing:  
**[Bumblebee x OC] or [OC x Starscream]

**Story Summary:  
**When all hope is lost, when the war has taken its toll, and death has swiped his hand over the planet, there is no turning an eye to it. It's everywhere, it's unavoidable, it's irreversible, and there's no going back. So there's only one way to go, one way to look. They look forward. To win their fights, to laugh with friends, and to live their lives. And despite the pain and sorrow, as they look forward, farther down the road, they come upon their lost hope, whose trust is broken when found but mended with growth. Now it is her turn to repay the debt by giving back what they had lost so long ago.

**Notes:  
**Cybertronians count their age in vorns and years in decivorns. This "_::_::_" symbolizes communication link conversations. And these are for your reference. These are approximate numbers:

**Astrosecond** – .498 earth seconds - _Cybertronian Second  
_**Nanoklik** – 1 earth seconds  
**Klik** – 1 earth minutes  
**Breem** – 8.3 earth minutes (8 min, 20 secs) - _Cybertronian Minute  
_**Groon** – 1 earth hour  
**Orn** – 1 earth day - _Cybertronian Hour  
_**Joor** – 93 earth hours (3 days, 21 hours)  
**Cycle **– 1 earth week - _Cybertronian Day  
_**Quartex** – 1.4 earth months (1 month, 1 weeks) - _Cybertronian Week  
_**Diun** – 5.6 earth months (5 months, 2 weeks) - _Cybertronian Month  
_**Quintun** – 1 earth year  
**Decivorn** – 8.3 earth years (8 years, 4 months) - _Cybertronian Year  
_**Vorn** – 83 years  
**Decavorn** – 830 years

**Rintek** – Cybertronian Millimeter  
**Duntek** – 10 rinteks – Cybertronian Centimeter  
**Espe** – 2.5 dunteks – Cybertronian Inch  
**Hister** – 12 espes – Cybertronian Foot  
**Arn** – 3 histers – Cybertronian Yard  
**Tek** – 1.1 arns – 1 Cybertronian Meter  
**Vun** – 100 teks – 1 Cybertronian Hectometer  
**Hic** – 10 vuns – 1 Cybertronian Kilometer  
**Cerse** – 1609 teks/1760 arns/1.6 hics – 1 Cybertronian Mile

**Autobots** - Red (Territory - Blue)  
**Decepticons** - Purple (Territory - Red)  
**Neutrals** - White (Territory - Unknown)  
**Unknowns** - Green (Territory - Unknown)

_**Disclaimer:  
**__**Everything I own belongs to me. Everything I don't own belongs to Hasbro and their respected owners.**_

* * *

**xX-Xx**

* * *

It was in the far reaches of space, past unfamiliar galaxies, and beyond billions of stars. Two moons orbited a planet of metal, reflecting the faint light from a sun billions of miles away, smoke rising from the deep crevasses in its surface, shining a dull yellow-orange in color of fire and graying the sky into a dreary black. Battle was well known on the planet Cybertron. At first, it began with menial attacks on important figures, which grew to gangs sabotaging stocks and shipments, to full on lethal attacks against anything that helped the higher cache. They stopped briefly when a new Prime was brought forth, a whole five thousand three hundred and ninety decivorn peace ensuing. But they picked right back up ten-fold, creating the Great Civil War between Autobots and Decepticons that waged for two-hundred-forty decivorns. It continued to drag on and on without prevention, without end... and without mercy.

Mass numbers of sentient beings fell to the hands of death countless times by either side. Whether they represented the side of freedom or of destruction, it did not matter. But numbers were numbers and the more that was subtracted, the more the other side gained ground. It was the logical sense when in the fight, to conserve and be strategically ready for anything.

Iacon, the dome capital of Cybertron, stood as the last and largest Autobot sanctuary against the Decepticons in the northern hemisphere, who ruled most of the planet from Kaon and Praxus with their numbers far greater than their enemies could possibly believe. Iacon was also where the AllSpark was kept from their deceptive hands, constantly guarded and watched by the surviving High Sentinels. This is where wards of different kinds were left inhabited by the few hundreds of warriors and civilians turned soldiers. It was where battle strategies took place, where secrets lay hidden from unwanted optics, and where Autobots at rest can refuel and recharge. It was also the place in which held the Prime of Cybertron, and Leader of the Autobots.

Planet Hierarch Optimus Prime was once merely a dock worker and data clerk of the Iacon shipyard, supervised under the optic of A3 and his predecessor, Sentinel Prime. When the beginning riots from a group of premature Decepticons hit the docks, and he was mortally wounded with his mate, A3 took the liberty to rebuild their new forms, seeing both their futures and destinies. The form for the mech later carried the power and essence that was the Matrix, whose previous owner stepped down as Prime decivorns later, and the form for the femme helped carry their stronger bond.

He ruled Cybertron for many, many vorns in the time of peace, settling most of the riots with a firm hand and constant guidance or assistance from his friends, comrades, and old mentors. But none held the rhythm steady alongside him better than his bond brother, Megatron.

Lord High Protector Megatron wasn't always as malevolent as the current days depicted him to be. In the time of peace, he was a justice seeking mech looking for ways to better their planet and protect his Prime. Although many saw his acts a bit too unkind, a mech created and raised as a gladiator in the pits of Kaon could not help himself in the ways of discipline he was taught. Though it did help in the bitter end. Many were stunned when he was called forth by the Matrix to share a brother-bond, and even more so when they began to see how his actions changed their planet for the better.

But it wasn't until after an alien invasion, the findings of a strange artifact, and his critical injuries from the battles did he use that trust to suddenly betray them all.

Optimus Prime held great pride with his brethren in arms, seeing them as equals and giving them all fair share duties to accomplish. His trust to them was to be rivaled with his ever growing wisdom and patience gained by the past Primes. Megatron, however, only trusted a select few, favoring them like prizes and leaving the rest to deal with the more petty work and situations. He was not stupid to put them out of their element, however, and gained ground in the war by being the patient predator that he was.

It was this that made him a formidable, and wanted for dead, high end betrayer.

No one for sure knew why Megatron had turned his back on the trusted, against justice and all that he built and prided upon. No one knew if it was actually him behind the schemes or someone else controlling him. After vorns of battle and death though, Cybertronian's around the world dubbed him a mech unable to be saved from himself.

He nearly killed Optimus for the Matrix, wanting it for its link to Primus and the Prime's. He nearly died himself when he went after the AllSpark, needing it for its energy, power, and ability to create life. Both losses aggravated him, he needed his numbers high, and so he searched for another relic, one only known to the Primes and a few of their trusted High Sentinels.

Two-hundred-thirty decivorns into the war, he began taking hostages, mechs and femmes associated with the Prime and his Autobots, killing them if they did not hold what he was looking for. He tried hunting for the Sentinels - a process that took up a good portion of the start beforehand - managing to kill two and capture one while the other seven hid. The prisoner nor his partner survived the information transfer, and Megatron gained just enough intelligence to seek out another try.

So the hunt for sparkling's a diun later began.

In the Gold Age, many Cybertronians had come to ask for a sparkling from the High Council, never intending to see their world torn apart again. They used the prosperous time as a means to responsibly elevate their numbers once more. When populations reached sufficiency, new sparks had to be applied for, and only to creator units that can prove their support of the sparkling. So when their kin, few and diverse as they were, from sparkling to youngling, started to become canon fodder, to disappear and/or die, both sides gave in to pure rage and violence, protection of their future descendents, their children, more important than themselves. Cybertronian femmes, Autobot or Decepticon, purposed as sole Guardians to their species young from the beginning of their history, died in greater numbers than mechs fighting to protect them, even if it meant becoming a traitor. For without bots to create frames, no spark from the AllSpark can flourish, and thus their species was doomed to die.

Then suddenly, everything stopped.

By the end of the first decavorn, nearly sixty percent of Cybertron was taken, ruled by Decepticon controlled cities.

Slowly, few by few, the sparklings disappeared along with their Guardians. It was mass genocide towards their current and future generations.

Hope was lost, lives were opted out, battle still waged, the war continued.

And the AllSpark was moved deep underground, never to bear another spark again.

* * *

_**xX-Xx**_

* * *

_ ::No luck here, either, Prime. Area eight-five-four is void. No survivors.::_

The Leader of the Autobots stood attentive on the spot, his optics blinking as he looked around the torn area that was his sector to explore, weapon in hand, ready to move if needed. Since the finding of a large group of survivor's four decivorns previous, search parties were warranted to go out in a specific area - typically two or six in a group depending on their ranking and the enemy influence - and clear it out to reclaim it and gather those who managed to live. Survivors since has been low, very few being found, but their radius had grown tenfold around Iacon because of this, and still steadily growing.

A diun ago, however, some mechs were lost to a very sudden and vicious attack on their turf. It lasted a full cycle before the Decepticons retreated with hissing scorn. Guards were doubled, sentries tripled, and scouts going out every three cycles. It wasn't the first sort of attack they've encountered, and certainly not the last.

The last few mechs out on the rotational search and sentry sent him their ornly reports, covering areas in each corner of their boundaries possible.

With a cycle of air through his slightly overheated vents, a hidden weariness in his voice but dared not let it show, the leader replied through the communications link, tabbing off the said area in his display as _'void' _and highlighting it blue. _::Very well. I want three tracer guards on the border once you are done. Span them out a cerse each before you head out. I do not want Decepticons thinking that is a weak spot.:: _It was the very area where the attacks started. He did _not_ want it happening again.

Prowl was quick to reply. _::Consider it done… Hound and I have one last area to check, it will take us about an orn or two to search it and set up. I will comm. you when we are done here.::_

_ ::I will be waiting for your reply.::_ A second crackle from his comm. came directly after just as he started walking again.

_ ::Optimus, I can hear ya startin' to stress again.:: _The drawl of his First Lieutenant reached his audio's with a voice of reason._ ::Ya need to settle yer gears. So it has been a while since we have seen anyone. Does not mean there are no more out there__.:: _Optimus stopped in front of a building that had been blown to the ground, looking around and scanning the sector to find nothing. _::__Ya really need t' relax before we send ya to Ratchet... again__. And ya know how he can get.::_

_::And I do not think Ratchet will be too fond of patching me up after the last encounter, but that is not why I am worried. I appreciate the thought of concern, otherwise.::_ He put a hand to the broken building._ ::Keep me updated on your status, Jazz. I expect you and Swerve to be done around the time everyone else is.::_

Jazz took a long pause and answered sullenly with a sigh._ ::Sure thing, boss bot. But I mean it about those gears.::_

He cut the link, and shook his head. A full decavorn - probably more than that as time was too hard to keep track of nowadays - of pure torture in finding nothing but half dead mech's or very few - if any - femmes, something that would raise hope in the number issue if they weren't falling into the hands of Primus from starvation or injuries, put him in a sense of guilt. Each time this happened, the same thought ran through his processor over and over again as he would watch his medics work to save a life. It was not the first time upon these moments where he wondered what had gone wrong with his bond-brother, to make him hunt down power and kill his own kind after all his work in making their society rise from such delinquency.

He remembered when Megatron was once just a firm mech from the Kaon region that believed in peace and love, but didn't exactly know how to show it outside the gladiator ring. When he was chosen, he watched and learned from those outside his city, taking in the different behaviors and actions between others. Over time, as they grew together in skill, his natural fighting nature was honed to wanting to keep that peace in any way he could as he ruled alongside Optimus, when times were still calm. But ever since the small invasion of intruders adamant on taking their world for their own, and the near death injuries he sustained in trying to defend a dig site full of rich energon, he took a turn down the darkened path, as if something corrupted him. There was no proof of this unfortunately.

His sudden hunger grew stronger for the knowledge of Cybertron and its past, enough so that it startled the Prime. His attitude slowly dwindled to his previous, more vicious and forceful, actions, if a bit worse. Many had noticed and voiced these concerns, questioning Optimus if it was right to keep his brother by his side when his head was still recovering. Optimus reassured his people that he had it under control, that what his bond-brother was going through was something he'd eventually sort out.

No one was satisfied, and word of Megatron possibly losing his title of Protectorate did not go unheard by the tyrant. Slowly, secretly, beneath all their optics, he began planning, scheming, recruiting until the moment was right and he turned everything around by starting the war, adopting the very name to his cult the rioters used whom he himself had stopped long ago.

Optimus had wandered into a different part of his area, listening to the others report in, giving orders to those who finished their locales, and scanning places as he went. He eventually came to a stop in front of a building twice as tall as him and very wide around. He recognized it immediately.

Every four diuns during the third quartex on the second cycle, he made a single visit to this specific Nursery Youth Sector, a place where a newborn spark to an adolescent youngling can stay in the absence of their creators to the care of Guardians, and run by a program past Primes have initiated and updated. It acted as a care facility, shelter, or a place for those without a home, hence the three floors. In it, they all learned the basics of knowledge; writing, reading, speech, studies, home and work etiquette, history, and many more things. In most cases, it was encouraged for creators to leave their young ones there from time to time as it was one of many great ways for them to be accepted into Academies early on and, more importantly, socialize. Everything about Cybertronian culture revolves around communication by direct verbal exchanges, personal communication links, or contact. Without a way to continuously express themselves, if one were to be withheld from communicating, it would drive them mad.

Youth Sector's were a beginning step towards something much greater and rewarding when times were gentler.

The place now lay in ruin, three walls of the bottom floor and one from the second the only parts still standing, everything else taking up the entire radius of the grounds in rubble and tangled heaps with small crystal lights still managing to survive keeping some areas illuminated. In his memory, he remembered loads of little sparklings and younglings playing around with each other, happy and innocent, caring and kind. He remembered, on his visits, all the sparklings gathering at his pedes, jumping, chirping, laughing, and yelling for his attention to pick them up as he made his way inside. The younglings would greet him with shy hello's, polite bows, or gentle clasps of the arm. The Guardians, rare models of femme makes and some mechs, would bow politely and smile, gathering him inside with eager hands.

He remembered checking every floor, sitting down to talk to those who have always wanted to meet him, playing briefly with the sparklings who risked getting in trouble to follow him before they were caught, and talking to the Guardians to make sure things were running okay. His visits were never coincidental. Given a choice, he could choose to never visit without it affecting the cause. But he loved to be around his peoples children, the ones he helped bring from the AllSpark, he enjoyed giving advice and wisdom to others in need as he himself grew into his new role. The perfect place to do that was in the Nursery, or any other Youth Sector in other cities. He made it his job to visit them all when he could, never if.

Unfortunately, this was not the first Youth Sector he's encountered since the start of the war. Not very many were built within city walls due to the extensive amount of civilians and workers walking the streets. It was no place for a newborn. And since their communications array was being blocked by Decepticon interference, there was no way for him to check in with other areas to see if any were obtained and secured. All communications had to be personally delivered, and at a great risk, one which Optimus was none too thrilled about. Every city within their reach, however, had been wiped clean.

He could never again continue what he did before.

An internal beep roused him from his thoughts. Bringing up the warning block that has been nudging his processor for a few cycles now, he took in briefly that both his energon and energy levels were reaching near critical, deprivation of recharge and sustenance for the past five cycles catching up with him.

Ignoring the annoying icon, he instead brought up the map of Iacon and its growing territories. Seventeen blips of Autobot red bordered the edge, their unchecked areas within it blinking yellow, some in groups of three or four, most in two - he had gone alone. As a Prime, he carried a mass amount of high tech weaponry and held multiple skill sets that would protect and defend him for however long as necessary.

The province was marked in blue - shaping it like an odd looking circle - spanning a good fifty-one cerse radius around the twelve thousand cerse radius city. On its borders were huge spots of red, where the Decepticons took up a post. The biggest so far being near where Prowl and Hound were located. Other spots were barren gray, where anything can be hiding.

Optimus found his area to nearly be done and he cycled air to cool his overworking systems before closing the map and trudging on. Soon he would have switch patrols out once their treks were done, for even Decepticons - notably their fliers - would dare cross their territory line for their own patrol or attack. Especially since last time.

He walked not twenty histers before his optics caught a falling plate of metal from a scrap heap to his left. He immediately brought his rifle up, finger on the trigger by reflex, turning fluidly to face it defensively. He searched the pile and area in all shades of vision but found nothing alive or moving. So he stayed still.

He saw it on his radar before he saw it in person. A green blip moved away from him for a while until it reached a spot that was bare. He saw a flash of running silver go by only for it to disappear just as fast.

With narrowed optics, he reached behind him to fold the rifle back into its holster on his shoulder, out of sight. He moved after it, following the now registered green blip of an unknown with quiet steps. Brief glimpses here and there told him enough that it was no cyberture*. Brief scans showed it to be a microbot and this made him pick up the pace. Never before have they found a microbot, the models functioning more so as data keepers, making them one of the first models to be exterminated by the Decepticons. Some bots, however, were built for heavy duty labor, or escorts, where a bigger bots have a harder time doing, so had a chance at survival if they kept in groups. But besides the ones who managed to survive and were in the care of the Autobots - he counted thirteen - every other was thought offline.

He opened a link. _::This is Optimus. I have a green unknown in sector nine-three-seven. Possible model: microbot. I need the nearest medic to report your position.::_

A few nanokliks passed as he relayed his exact position. _::Ratchet here. I am currently five sectors from your point. You say a microbot?::_

There was a blip of confirmation. _::He is not a cyberture, and certainly too small to be anything else. About a hister tall. Though I cannot quite get a proper visual on him. He is running.::_

_::Incredible... Keep on him until I get there. If he is a microbot, he will need a lot of help. How soon do you need me?::_

_ ::From what I can see, he does not seem all that injured. But as quickly as you can regardless. Let me know when you are two teks out.::_

_ ::Confirmed. Ratchet out.::_

For several teks, Optimus followed the microbot quietly. Normally he would make his presence known, ask if the survivor was okay, if he was damaged, or looking for someplace to bunker down for the night. But after a few breems, he noticed several things that told him not to. The microbot was frantic about something. He would go up to a pile, search through it as fast and as quiet as he could, come back out with nothing but a frustrated warble - a trait highly uncommon, though not unheard of, for any cybertronian who is capable of speech - and dash to the next pile, coming out with even angrier or hollowed tones. Each time, his acts only became more and more desperate, faster, clumsier. It became clear that this bot was not scavenging for himself, but for another as well, possibly more than one.

He also noticed that with each glimpse he managed to catch, this was no ordinary microbot. Microbot's, not to be mistaken for minibots or minicons* who were both smaller than the average Cybertronian, were models built with slender to thick hides depending on their field of work. However, this one had no bulk to speak of. He had no protective plating, not even makeshift ones, no weapons, no tactical surveys, no anything. He was going outside with no safeguard or precaution of any kind whatsoever.

He bent down behind a large heap and opened a channel. _::Ratchet. You might want to step on it.::_ Pulling up the map, he saw one of the red dots moving towards him from the south-west, four sectors out.

_::Have you made contact?::_

_::No. This is no ordinary microbot. I am tailing him to see where exactly he is going. He is scavenging, but not for himself. Possibility of there being another, injured, is very high. I will not know until I see him.::_

_ ::How unordinary are we talking?::_

_ ::No armor, less bulk. Casings are showing and no displays of proper safety measures are taken visually or otherwise.::_

_::I will do all I can.::_

He shut the link and map as he peaked over the side of the pile, watching as, yet again, the microbot came from out of a mound, but instead of a string of curses, it rejoiced in finally finding something of use. Something square, clear and filled halfway with dark purple liquid. Low grade energon. Optimus stood up to follow him once more as he dashed off and, in the process, unintentionally nudged a piece of rock into a metal panel, making a sudden ringing noise that had the microbot freeze mid step.

The Prime also froze and stepped back behind the pile in a crouch just fast enough to evade the bot's searching gaze. He could hear him give the smallest of clicks, barely high enough to register in his audios, before hearing the tell tale 'thumps' of its pedes taking off.

Watching on radar the green blip move further away, Optimus waited just long enough to gain a distance from him before quickly following. He made it several teks forward before the blip completely vanished. With a curse, Optimus came to a stop, instinctively replacing his left hand with his energon blade, double checking his surroundings, straining his audios to listen for misplaced sounds, and strengthening the signal of his radar. He quickly realized his signal was being jammed on a great scale. He couldn't even see Ratchet anymore.

_::Ratchet, radars are being jammed in my immediate area. Enemy presence or responsibility is unknown. Are you close enough to guide me in?:: _He sent him his radar settings.

_::I got you, Prime.::_ Astroseconds went by. _::I am thirteen cerses out. You have no enemies in your area but you are very close to the mapped border. The microbot you are searching for is three degrees northeast about a vun or two out.::_

_::Hail me again if I veer off.::_

He never did. Optimus was on a mission and set dead on finding this survivor. He was not letting this one get away, or the possible other he was providing for. A simple direction and estimate length of travel was all he needed as his range-distance meter led the way into the deserted suburb nearest the Youth Sector.

_::His signal is gone Optimus.::_ Ratchet announced surprised, stopping the leader once more. _::I have him at ninety-two degrees north of the equator, and seventeen degrees west of the meridian. He is close. Keep following your path.::_

His attention was caught immediately. _::Any Decepticons?::_ he trekked forward cautiously, the hum of his energon blade a reassurance on his arm as his senses heightened ten fold.

_:None.::_

He hummed. This was too easy. Why jam radars if never to ambush by now? Or set a trap? Maybe to catch him off guard? As if.

Left and right, empty buildings of stores, businesses and homes screamed at him in silence, their charred walls having been blasted or melted away from fires or battle. At one point he passed a playground, the land and entertainment areas nothing but burnt junk with sizzled out fires. Homes were destroyed, stores were demolished, many holes - both bullet and cybertronian size - littered everything his optics landed on. And, of course, the massive body count of old empty carcasses lying within sight. It churned his core.

Several breems into the slow but determined walk finally brought him to a small, homey looking library - or, at least, that _was_ the impression. The automated doors have been broken through, the crystal glass littering the floor in shards, the windows of the two story place suffered much in the same. The outer wall on the left was nearly destroyed, showing the innards of what was once an office.

In an instant, without a thought or care, he dashed inside with his blade ready, for this building, too, was also a recognizable place. Known for it's gentle hospitality, warm atmosphere, high energy, and favorable customs to all. But also for its secrets the owners held onto with welded lips, unless in the presence of himself and one other.

He knew exactly what this place was and what it hid from the public eye.

Immediately upon entry, his exterior lights blinked on from his shoulders and chassis at the dark area. The first thing he saw were thousands of datapads littering the floor - most broken - furniture having been toppled over or wrecked, walls broken through or torn down, and hanging crystal lights shattered on the floor with the rest of the destruction. In a corner farthest from him on his right, he saw a broken body of what was either a civilian or otherwise, energon long having lost its blue glow on the wall and floor, with his chassis broken in to, his spark no longer in its casing. He turned away and switched the lights off, instead using his night vision to guide his way through the building. He grew numb to the sight of dead bodies, having to see so many each cycle whether from reports, patrol graphs, or his own sentry duty.

As he ventured deeper inside, the eerier it got for him to be there. Each isle he walked by, the datacases and bookshelves were either toppled over or swiped clean, books and datapads littering the floor in heaps, as if someone was searching for something. Five times he came upon dead bodies, one of them being a fellow Autobot, another a Decepticon, and the other three library Guardians. No doubt he tried to get them out but ran into trouble. Optimus gave him a small prayer to Primus.

He came upon what use to be the stairwell to the second floor. The structure had collapsed, most likely from a blast of some sort, with a giant hole in the ceiling to where it led. The second story contained the study hall for students of the Academy, holding many books found in the Academy's own library, and much more. Sparkling's were not allowed up there, it being a strict environment to older cybertronians only. There was no other way up, this he knew, unless you dared scaling the walls.

However, despite the destruction, the messes, and lack of many missing books or pads, he went straight for the children's section with quiet, quick steps, a single thought clouding his mind as soon as he saw the building.

No one should be in here to take it as refuge.

Many vorns ago, when he was still adjusting to being pronounced Prime of Cybertron, his mentor, A3, introduced to him many secrets that his predecessor did not know. Secrets that should never be revealed even in dire situations to the planet. One of those many secrets involved this library. It was built for a reason, and structured purposefully in a way so there wouldn't be a place to take refuge in it. It was made to be inconspicuous, to make it look unworthy of someplace to hide.

Unless you were directly associated with keeping its secret, and closely affiliated with the Prime. That microbot was not to be here.

Optimus stepped into the area, and stopped dead in his tracks as his optics took in the view. Nothing in the place was even close to being more rummaged through, wrecked, or turned over than the children's area. Everything was in shambles. The furniture, the books, the datapads, the shelves, the walls, the wallgraphs. Everything. Not a thing left untouched. Except the empty walkway down the middle towards the back wall. With a curse, he headed towards it, stepping over the piles of unusable items and fallen cases until it was clear.

The wall once held four datacases, two on each side of the now blank wall which had a pre-working wallgraph that advertised the joy of reading. His spark dropped upon seeing their condition, whatever was in them having fallen to the ground and mixed up with the piles. He crouched down near the closest stack, retracting his blade, and turning on a single light from his shoulder to sift through the mess in a near frantic search. He didn't get through more than ten datapads before a soft clunking could be heard behind him.

Turning to stand, he watched with narrowed optics as the untouched floor he was just on began to slowly split open, panels falling in place below the doors to make a set of white stairs leading downwards beneath the entire library. But instead of going down, he saw the microbot coming up with a bit of difficulty on each step until he reached the top with the very datapad of fabled war stories he'd been searching for.

He nearly jumped the poor bot in a bout of anger and nervousness. Almost took out his blade again and demand to know how the bot knew of the hidden passage. How to open it and how much he had seen. How long he had been holing up in it and who else was there. But as soon as his optics caught the attention of him, blue on blue, he had to lock his knees.

"You are not a microbot." It was barely heard from his vocals, but the deep baritone caught the smaller mech by surprise with a startled chirp and he took a step back in fright, frozen in fear. "You are not-" Optimus wanted to reach out, but he barely moved his hand up before the bot took a quicker step back, forgetting about the drop below him, and missed the floor. He fell backwards with a screech the same time Optimus took a frantic step forward, and tumbled down the steps into the room below.

Optimus rushed forward, grabbing the datapad the mech had dropped - subspacing it - and quickly made for the stairs in a panic. He heard and saw the landing the mech made with a squeal of pain, his air valves stalling at the impact, impairing him from getting up and away from the approaching leader. He managed, however, to get up and limp away as soon as Optimus reached the bottom.

He had forgotten how much this place was always so pristine on his rare visits, even after the war struck, which caused him to stall his movement momentarily to look about the familiar room as the lights flickered on at his large presence, a familiar voice greeting him from the loud speaker that he was impressed still functioned.

_ "Admission: Granted. Welcome, Planet Hierarch Optimus Prime and guest."_

The silver walls put detail on the smoky gray terminals pushed against them in the very large circular room. The black, empty monitors sat connected to them above white keyboards. But it was nothing compared to the stark white, circular console situated in the middle of the room, a single rail system above it that held two specially graphed gray chairs that allowed them to rotate around it without touching the white floor. And instead of large monitors to look into, there was nothing but empty space, round indentions on both top and bottom terminals that would allow a hologram touch globe to take residence.

A small bang filled the silent room, startling him enough to remember his purpose there. There were five adjourning rooms connected to the main one, two of which were private quarters, one a recreation room, another a lab and the last a medical bay, the last two just as big around as the main one. He headed for the bay.

Peaking inside, he saw the same color scheme as everything else. The medical bay held, in the far right corner, a cylinder tank of green liquid, empty and still, with a monitor by its side. Six berths lined the left wall, all but one with dark monitors at their sides, and counters all up on the right with cabinets and wall mounts above them. Everything from the lower drawers and cupboards were sifted through, littering the floor as most were discarded and unused. He suddenly found a medical instrument being thrown at his head. He dodged out of the way last astrosecond on reflex.

The small mech - height guessed correctly - spoke in hurried, frightened warbles, holding an armful of random things to throw as he stood atop the fourth berth, favoring his right leg. Optimus' optics immediately landed on the other figure he was guarding... and went wide eyed.

Not microbots. _Not microbots_! He could have laughed if not for the dire situation before him. Hope overwhelmed his body in an instant, as well as terror on both of their conditions. Now that the former was in proper light, Optimus could now see that he was malnourished and beyond a need for an upgrade. The latter sported no better, but worse, and this is what made the leader go forward with caution, his hands up. This was in vain as the one guarding threw his armload at him the closer he got, the equipment bouncing off his armor harmlessly but making him flinch regardless.

"Easy, little one," Optimus soothed, his voice a bit resounding in the silence. "Easy. I am not here to hurt you." Another step forward and the mech stopped his assault. "I am here to help. I am a friend."

He was soon standing two histers from the table, hands still up. He reached out slowly with his left hand, palm up, and waited with all his patience for the other to react against the peaceful signal he relayed from his Matrix. At first he was given a glare from the trembling figure, then uncertainty. He didn't have to wait long after that. The identified sparkling before him broke into sobs mere astroseconds after, dropping what left he had in his arms and all but flung himself at Optimus with a frightful, relieved, longing cry.

His keening alone had the leader finally on his knees, holding the child with delicate arms that longed to grasp tighter and never let go, as if this was all an illusion. "You are safe," he had whispered, stroking his backstrut in comfort. "You are safe now. No one will hurt you. I am here." The sparkling in his arms held tight to his chassis, refusing to let go or move as he keened louder.

It had to have been a miracle. Luck, coincidence, fate, or the doing of Primus himself. He did not know and he did not bother to care at the moment. For before him on the berth with dark optics, attached clumsily to a monitor relaying its life signs quietly, was the first femme he had seen so young in eons. But unlike the one in his arms, she sported more injuries than a normal sparkling could handle.

She was battered and too big for the current metal skin she wore, just as the mech was. Bright blue energon trickled lightly down her right side over a main line, and puddled beneath her where a previous one had been as it began to lose its glow, indicating that it hasn't been flowing for long but it has been opened many times before. Many dents and scratches adorned her body, and he felt searing anger when he spotted missing pieces of metal, chipped or broken off, by something that must have hit her. The monitor showing her vitals indicated a sporadic spark pulse, her energy levels fully depleted and energon levels just below average. Her entire system sounded unhealthy and worn, working hard to keep her alive.

Several emotions clouded his every sensor as he touched her arm. From grief to extreme delight. Not just upon finding sparklings, _live_ sparklings, but one single child who he had once known. He had personally brought their sparks into the casings they held, for they immediately synced with his much older one. He had known her creators, visited her home, became their friends, served with them... and to see either like this, the femme over twenty decivorns later, tore him apart. He now knew why his radar was jammed, a defense that she threw up when physically impaired.

Someone had gotten a hold of her.

"What happened to you, sweet-spark?" He saw the empty square that once held the low grade energon the mech in his arms brought in and he debated. No one was allowed in this secret lab but himself and those with authorization from the creators. Ratchet was on his way - no doubt already past the point of the radar jam - to these coordinates. If he were to come inside...

He knew better than to allow someone else in. He knew the consequences and wondered why he even considered a choice. He stood, knowing that he couldn't revel in the moment with the other sparkling hurt on the berth. With careful hands, he reached for the cord attached to the base of her neckline, but was startled away at the child's cry from his arms.

Optimus looked down to see the sparkling staring wide-eyed up at him and then to his friend, tugging on his chassis for him to stop with whirrs and clicks of desperate worry and wonder. How young he was, yet older than the other to take on a protective quality.

"It is fine." He told him gently. "I am going to get her some help, but we cannot stay here." He reached for the cord again and was reluctantly allowed to continue. It came off with a slight hiss and the monitor went blank. He processed how he was to proceed with only one hand. He urged the conscious sparkling to briefly let him go to situate the femme comfortably as he picked her up, careful not to disturb the leaking tube of energon. Once he had a firm, gentle hold, he picked the mech up and headed out of the lab with quick steps.

He ascended the stairs without difficulty, the lights behind him dimming to darkness at his command. At the top, the steps moved upward to press against the floor he now stood on as the doors closed. He kicked a few piles of datapads over the empty space. No evidence of there ever being a hidden passage could be found.

Exiting the building, he shushed the nervous warbling sparkling, looking in all directions in all senses for any changes that might have been made while he was inside. None were found and so he continued down the way he had come from. He made it to the outskirts of the neighborhoods before he saw Ratchet heading his way. He had to calm the squirming mech as the medic transformed and approached them.

"Optimus!" Ratchet looked around the area, weary of the silence and his blind radar. He had a saw blade out. "Did you find him?" But he stopped dead when he glanced down to see what his leader held, locking his gaze to a pair of small blue optics staring terrified at him and the unmoving form curled to his chest.

"Yes," Optimus said. "I found them. And it only took several vorns to do it."

* * *

_**xX-Xx**_

* * *

_**Author's Note:**__ This is the fully edited version of my original make. And I warn you guys now, this will change again as soon as the prequel to 'Our Debt' is done and posted. But that won't be for a while. Yes I put this up in 2007, but I love all of the past reviews this story has gotten and I don't want to lose them or the readers I've gained. Please leave reviews and comments at the end for I love criticism from my readers! It makes me feel happy and may encourage me to write faster! 8D -hint hint-_

_*Cyberture - A Cybertronian winged, bipedal, or quadruped creature or animal,._

_I made this word up myself. Feel free to use it 'cause I thought it was awesome! Since, you know, Cybertronian's can't really call the animals, animals. That's a human word_

_*Minibots, Minicons, and Microbots are all a different model type. Microbots are the smallest of the Cybertronians, standing no taller than a few inches to five human feet. Minibots stand between six to fifteen human feet, and Minicons stand from four to eight feet._

_**Cybertronian History 101**_

_Before the dawn of time, Order and Chaos existed within an extra-dimensional entity known as The One. To explore the fledgling universe, he created the astral being known as Unicron, and then subdivided him, creating his twin, Primus. Both brothers were multiversal singularities, unique in all realities, but whereas Unicron could only exist in one dimension at a time, moving between them at will, Primus existed simultaneously in all realities at once. It is suggested, in fact, that the two brothers embody the basic concepts of reality—good and evil, order and chaos—and that their continued existence is necessary for the stability of the multiverse. As Unicron and Primus went about their appointed task, venturing through the cosmos, it became apparent to Primus that Unicron was a corrupt being, and he took it upon himself to stop the threat posed to all of existence by his sibling. In combat, Primus was no match for Unicron. In cunning, however, he proved himself to be his brother's superior when he shifted their battle to the astral plane, and then back to the physical world once more, only to have both their essences manifest within metallic planetoids, leaving them both trapped. It was with this act of sacrifice that Primus hoped to contain Unicron's evil forever. Unfortunately for him, over time, Unicron learned to psionically shape his prison into a giant metallic planet, and Primus followed suit, becoming the mechanical world of Cybertron._

_**Review Please :D I will adore you forevers!**_


	2. Distraught

**Title:  
**Our Debt

**Chapter:  
**Distraught

**Pairing:  
**Bumblebee x OC or OC x Starscream

**Story Summary:  
**When all hope is lost, when the war has taken its toll, and death has swiped his hand over the planet, there is no turning an eye to it. It's everywhere, it's unavoidable, it's irreversible, and there's no going back. So there's only one way to go, one way to look. They look forward. To win their fights, to laugh with friends, and to live their lives. And despite the pain and sorrow, as they look forward, farther down the road, they come upon their lost hope, whose trust is broken when found but mended with growth. Now it is her turn to repay the debt by giving back what they had lost so long ago.

**Notes:  
**Cybertronians count their age in vorns, and years in decivorns. This "_::_::_" symbolizes communication link conversations. And these are for your reference. These are approximate numbers:

**Astroklik** – .498 earth seconds - _Cybertronian second  
_**Nanoklik** – 1 earth seconds  
**Klik** – 1 earth minutes  
**Breem** – 8.3 earth minutes (8 min, 20 secs) - _Cybertronian minute  
_**Groon** – 1 earth hour  
**Orn** – 1 earth day - _Cybertronian hour  
_**Joor** – 93 earth hours (3 days, 21 hours)  
**Cycle **– 1 earth week - _Cybertronian day  
_**Quartex** – 1.4 earth months (1 month, 1 weeks) - _Cybertronian week  
_**Diun** – 5.6 earth months (5 months, 2 weeks) - _Cybertronian month  
_**Quintun** – 1 earth year  
**Decivorn** – 8.3 earth years (8 years, 4 months) - _Cybertronian year  
_**Vorn** – 83 years

**Rintek** – Cybertronian millimeter  
**Duntek** – 10 rinteks – Cybertronian centimeter  
**Espe** – 2.5 dunteks – Cybertronian inch  
**Hister** – 12 espes – Cybertronian foot  
**Arn** – 3 histers – Cybertronian yard  
**Tek** – 1.1 arns – 1 Cybertronian meter  
**Vun** – 100 teks – 1 Cybertronian hectometer  
**Hic** – 10 vuns – 1 Cybertronian Kilometer  
**Cerse** – 1609 teks/1760 arns/1.6 hics – 1 Cybertronian mile

**Autobots** - Red (Territory - Blue)  
**Decepticons** - Purple (Territory - Red)  
**Neutrals** - White (Territory - Unknown)  
**Unknowns** - Green (Territory - Unknown)

_**Disclaimer:  
**__**Everything I own belongs to me. Everything I don't own belongs to Hasbro and their respected owners.**_

* * *

_**xX-Xx**_

* * *

Ratchet, being the field medic that he was, had assessed the sparklings conditions with a quick eye, his shock a quick yet unhidden emotion that flashed across the planes his face, and nearly panicked with what the information held. The small mechling was beyond frightened when he was brought out of the safe haven he was found in, and even more so when he saw the other looming mech that wasn't Optimus. Needless to say, he was a hard one to settle down before they were placed gently inside both bots and rode back to the domed city of Iacon.

Prime had sent a heavily encrypted mass message once they set out to inform the current patrolling units that he and Ratchet had left their posts. Ratchet had been with two others, who had quickly called in to ask if things were okay. Optimus filled everyone in with the vaguest of details, only saying that they had found survivors and asked the nearest parties to keep alert in his empty area until the next alteration started within the next few breems. Surprise and shock were the natural reactions he obtained through several communications links and he calmly dismissed them all back to their duties without room for arguments.

By the time they reached the extendable bridge, stretching over a vast and deep set canyon that circled the entire city, their identifying signals and speed giving off an urgent need for it to be activated immediately, the femme within Ratchet started keening weakly in her stasis as her leak grew worse, and Optimus was finally feeling the pull of starvation on his body as the mech within him started squirming.

The bridge deactivated behind them, the enormously large doors closing shut on their tail ends as they zoomed into the large domed city where Ratchet activated his lights and sirens, racing to the medical facility. Civilians and soldiers alike moved aside fairly quickly, turning their heads in curiosity and urgency as both went by full speed, most staying put, some following. Their appearance wasn't an uncommon sight, medics zoomed back and forth almost every cycle to and from the medical center with a different escort each time, sometimes this included their Prime as well. But this time, however, they radiated something critical, a necessity that was unlike any other, which gave the street roaming or stationed Autobots and Neutrals pause with either fear or dread.

The medical center - commonly known as The Iaconian Medical and Research Center, which also doubled as a science research laboratory - was the largest treatment structure in the northwestern hemisphere of Cybertron, which held very few of the best medics around. Before the war, it was a place where no medic or acolyte was permanently stationed, bots moving about to Youth Sectors and city clinics to oversee the health and treatment of civilians. Nowadays, medics were few and widespread, most having died from the destruction of the sectors to prevent future heirs or Autobots from growing, and so engineers and scientists were contracted to pull a double duty in learning the basics of mech care. The IMRC then tripled to a learning facility.

Needless to say, the place was very well occupied with learning mechs, patients, and staff, meaning their entrance was not going to be easy or unnoticed.

_::I need three of my best medics down in Bay-Four immediately!::_ Ratchet hailed to his staff. _::This is a Code C-01 Priority! Repeat: Code C-01 Priority!::_ The chatter that immediately followed was garbled due to so many talking at once, but the doubt, surprise, fear, and urgency in the tones was not lost as the command was irrespectively no time at all, Optimus and Ratchet were backing up towards the hanger door of Bay-Four, the entrance for high priority patients in need of a quick placement and treatment without seeing eyes.

The Autobots Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Surge met them there with two hover berths and expectant expressions of alarm. Ratchet opened his back doors as Surge stepped forward, his shock visible. He did not let this stop him however, and so gently pulled the unconscious sparkling from his superior's cabin and placed her on the berth, immediately strapping her to a fluid line he had set up with ease upon hearing her keen. Perceptor, with the same reaction as the other, came and took the little mech from Optimus' arms, the leader having transformed beforehand, and placed his frantic warbling form on the other berth. Wheeljack was quick to steady his Prime at seeing him wobble some.

"I want them both in the emergency clinic _now_!" Ratchet ordered, having transformed and followed the two disciples. "Do _not_ let them be seen under any circumstance!" He turned to Wheeljack. "And make sure _he_ is seen to a room as well." He ran off with a scolding look to his leader. No doubt Jazz had informed him of his strain.

The science engineer stared with wide optics after the retreating mechs until they disappeared behind a door. "Optimus... How in all of Cybertron did you manage to find sparklings? ...We thought they all had perished..." he had barely whispered this.

Optimus only managed to shake his head solemnly, grateful for the mech's support as he began to follow after them. "We were apparently wrong. I had found them within an unstable home structure. It collapsed as soon as I got them out." It pained him to lie to someone he trusted enough to put his life in his hands, but he would not mention the truth of their discovery, much less where. That was for another time under more stable conditions and only to those who have his high trust.

As soon as they passed through Bay-Four's doors, quiet noise immediately entered his audios, the muffled droning of many mechs echoing off the walls from every direction. He suspected that teachings were underway, or the staff was still in a jumble from the news of the new recipients. Both were more than likely.

No longer needing his support - kindly straying away from the hold - he ignored the noise and unsteadiness of his systems and allowed the smaller engineer to lead him down corridors and passageways with urgency, passing many other hallways that led to occupied rooms, lobbies, or laboratories. After several turns, up two floors and down another hall, Wheeljack and Optimus had caught up with the three mechs just as they burst into a room and locked it behind them.

Inside, the femme was transferred from one berth to another, Surge immediately strapping necessary lines to her frame, setting up a transfusion to feed her starved body. But as soon as she was plugged into a monitor, the thing started blaring with all sorts of warnings. Ratchet swore up a storm as he moved through the room, gathering the equipment he needed. Perceptor, meanwhile, had set the mech on a berth farthest from the commotion, but had little luck in controlling his wildly flying limbs as he tried to get away from him. No hushing sounds or soothing clicks could temper with the sparkling as he cried in fright at both his predicament and his heavily damaged friend. Eventually, Perceptor managed to sedate the mechling, and by being so small, the sedative was quick to react. A breem later and the sparkling was deep in a recharging cycle. The room now devoid of one problem, the three mechs began their work. Outside through the viewing glass, Optimus could only watch in weary silence as they were now out of his hands.

Questions he had mulled over before resurfaced, the most important being how had they survived thirty decivorns of war? Where had they been hiding the entire time? Certainly not in the lab below the library, at least not without _someone_ knowing about it, right? He'd have to go back there on his own time and see the activation records, because for all he knew, only the femme had those activation codes and the last time he had seen her was before the war progressed outwardly, though he had last heard of her from a bot who he had lost contact with all but over a vorn ago. He was devastated, because the Decepticons had most likely found the bots group.

The Decepticons...

Wheeljack stepped up to Prime, noting his lack of emotion, and put a hand on his forearm. He didn't move. "Optimus, I need you to come with me." The fins on the side of his helm flashed bright blue as they synchronized with his worried tone. "I don't want you going into stasis on me."

It was a few moments later, when the stress and worry of loss, excitement and relief at finding sparklings, back to stress, worry, and dread on everything that went through his processor finally showed itself on his leader's overall body language before his now flickering optics finally went black as his body began to shut down.

Optimus dropped.

* * *

_**xX-Xx**_

* * *

His vision, at first nothing but black, suddenly brightened with dozens of previous warnings and coding updates before vanishing once seen. The first thing that came online afterwards was his auditory receptors. He took in the sounds of gentle beeping and humming from the machinery around him. His fingers twitched, followed by his arms, torso and so forth, feeling the lack of sluggishness in the well-oiled gears, not a single ounce of soreness anywhere on his body. His vision finally cleared up just as the doors slid open.

"So you finally wake," the doors closed as Ratchet came in, his blue optics chiding as he crossed the room to the monitors, picking up a datapad. "The Council is not happy with you Prime. They are cursing to Primus himself with the workload that was put upon them by your lack of self-care."

"They can handle it." Was Optimus' immediate reply, sitting up and taking in the feel of rejuvenation from a full tank of energon and reservoir of energy, purposefully stretching his limbs and flexing his armor plates. "How long have I been out?"

"Two cycles, nineteen orns, thirty-seven breems, and ten astroseconds." His optics glared at the leader before promptly smacking him upside the helm, earning the medic a satisfying -to him, at least- ding. "You have neglected to care for yourself in at least a quartex! You realize how much damage you put on your body if you do that continuously? This is the fourth time you've done it in the last seven decivorns!" The larger bot took on a secretive look. "Luckily for you, that trithillium* hide of yours has been keeping things intact. Do it again, however, and I'll keep you sedated until necessary."

"Threat noted," Optimus twisted on the berth so that his peds dangled off. He did a mental check of everything he held in possession, knowing that Ratchet empited subspaces when he works. A fleck of worry had built up but was quickly washed away as soon as the datapad he retrieved from the library came up. "Though I can assure you, I am slowly stepping away from that routine."

"Pathetically slow, if you ask me."

"How long before they know I am online?" They being the Council.

"So long as you keep away from Prowl."

"Than within the orn?" His optics suddenly brightened as he stepped off the berth in teasing.

Ratchet scoffed. "If even that."

The leader nodded, silent a moment. "Where are the sparklings?"

With his back turned, Ratchet answered. "In recovery."

"And their conditions?"

With a hiss from pressurizing gears, the CMO set aside the datapad he had on other patients and turned to lean back against the counter, a thoughtful and worrying gaze directed towards the floor. "Good... and bad. The mech is doing fine, surprisingly. He was malnourished with a very outdated frame and a fractured leg strut, most likely from a recent fall." He saw Optimus flinch and gave him a curious look. The leader waved it off for another time. "Wheeljack took the liberty in getting the mech a new framework, which helped us a lot in figuring his maturity. He is no sparkling, Optimus, or small for that matter anymore. He is roughly eleven vorns old. Barely into his youngling stages. His vocoder was knocked loose, which explains his inability to talk, but that was also taken care of. Maybe now we can get some answers to the large sum of questions everyone wants..."

"How is the staff taking the news?"

"As rabid as a bunch of starving turbofoxes. They want answers, and they want to see them. Word has already spread throughout Iacon. It is only a matter of time before news breaks the border."

"I will not allow that. Their existence is to be withheld by all means necessary to prevent exposure to the Decepticons."

"I figured as much, as did Prowl. He took the initiative to inform the Council what actions are to be taken once they are recovered and that the disruption field be strengthened. He will inform you, in detail, the extent of his proclamations later."

"Very well… What of the femme?" Optimus kept his tone leveled, but as Ratchet prolonged his silence, his gaze returning to the floor, he believed it wouldn't stay so for long. His spark paused. "Did she make it?"

Ratchet hummed. "The femme...She is in a bad spot, Optimus. With the removal of her outer armor, we determined her to be only three vorns old and the damage she sustained through however long a length is more than her body can handle, yet she survived it... but only just... Her frame was beyond repair, nothing but a dented and null carcass to carry around. Yet... trithillium steel makes up her protoform, believe it or not. Very unusual but I am not questioning something that managed to save some of her most delicate innards. We were able to seal the leaks off, but she is not retaining the energon like we hoped... her system keeps purging it." He narrowed his optics, and sneered in sudden frustration. "Her spark casing is severely damaged and barely holding together. Her pulses are sporadic. Practically everything to keep it going has some kind of blunt trauma to it and I cannot fix it properly without the necessary resources for a sparkling." He paused for a long while. "She has lasted this long with our constant supervision, but without another casing... I am afraid that she will not make it through the next three cycles."

The dread, the sorrow, and the powerful feeling of guilt swept through the Prime's entire being, leaving him wide-eyed at the news. The femme was dying. "Can you not break down an adult casing?"

Ratchet shook his head. "It is not that easy. Yes, I can do it, but the risk in fixing it now with all that trauma on her lines will only make her condition worse. If her systems do not start accepting energon by the third cycles first light, we are going to lose another to the Matrix." His optics suddenly dimmed, the notable look of an incoming communications link drawing his attention. Just as quickly, his optics brightened back up. The medic stepped away from the counter and gestured to his leader. "Come on. The mech is coming online. He'll need some comforting after the news."

"Do you intend to tell him?" Then a thought hit him. One that he didn't even know the answer to. "Does he even know who the femme possibly is? She could be a stranger." Maybe he too can get some answers as to where the femme had been. He can quell worries her existence put back into play.

A pause. "None of us are sure if they are acquainted in any form, but we will know in time. Either way, I will not give him information so long as there is no reason to."

The trek wasn't long. Optimus had been moved down a floor when he had passed out through exhaustion, and with a new liveliness in his step, he was more than fervent to get back to the mech and sparkling. After exiting the lift, he followed Ratchet down a few doors and into a quiet corridor. Optimus noted that no violators or other patients were seen, not even some of the healers. He figured that this floor was now heavily guarded from Ratchet's (and Prowl's) orders. They paused at the fourth door on the left and entered.

Beeping and droning sounds echoed quietly all over the decently sized room. A counter sat against the right side, stretching from one wall to the other, with two berths against the left side. He quickly noted the absence of the femme.

Wheeljack stood quietly by the mechs side, viewing a datapad in consideration, but looked up at the sound of their entrance. "Optimus!" he greeted. "Gave me a scare on that fall, Prime. Had to get a few of us to put you on a portable. How are you feeling?"

Optimus smiled gently at the ever talkative scientist and waved a hand in greeting. "Much better. Thank you," he nodded towards the mech, his health not a top priority at the moment. "How is he?"

"He is nearly out of stasis," Wheeljack observed. "All signs are stable, system is fully operational, and we will have to test out his other functions once he is up. Upgrades have been installed, coding up to date. No problems whatsoever."

"Any changes with the femme?" Ratchet asked.

The scientist shook his head. "None from the last."

"But you know her outcome." Optimus spoke up, his hand brushing the mechlings arm as he came to stand by his side and quickly noted how tall the youngling actually was. He was now a good two histers taller. Standing, he'd reach just past his knee joints.

"Of course I do," Wheeljack eyed his commanders' gesture. "But as Ratchet and I have agreed, nothing can be done about it with the extensive injuries on her other parts. We literally have to wait for her nanites to fix the damages."

"Nanites are what we are upgraded with for each update." His optics brightened. "Have you considered nanogenes? They must be more potent in the healing process."

Ratchet shook his head. "Was already in deliberation. It would work most definitely, but we have none here. The only place to find them is where they were mass produced."

His shoulders fell. "Praxus."

"Unfortunately." Wheeljack sighed and leaned to one pede. "We do not have any other way to obtain them, or have the blueprints to create even one."

"The Decepticons wiped most of the place clear off the grid. The laboratories do not even exist anymore."

"And with the Decepticon High Command Aerie stationed there, going in is out of the question," Optimus let his optics dim in thought before settling with a hard yet hopeful stare. "What of Prowl?"

"What about Prowl?" But before Optimus could continue, the mechling began to stir. The medic moved around the scientist to take down the fluctuations in his systems as they booted up.

A chirp brought the attention to the youngling as his optics lit up to that brilliant light blue. He blinked a few times and let out a whine in evidence of the slight pain he felt. "Why does my body hurt?" His voice came out light and white-noisy, whispered almost as if foreign to using it. He suddenly bolted straight up and touched his neck. "I can talk again!" He felt the protruding device connected to his main line and froze. "W-What's this?"

"Careful there youngling. We would not want for you to pull that out on your own." Ratchet's rumble caught the small mech by surprise, his eyes wide as his gaze landed on the two bots to his left. He gave a half hearted yell, scrambling to get back but stopped as he bumped into Optimus' spotting palm.

The leader chuckled at the younglings' bewildered expression and sent that all too familiar pull sparks were attracted to and trusted. "Hello, young one." And as if his low baritone was a signal, the bot gave out a wail and launched himself at his chest. Optimus was quick to the action as he quickly picked him up and wrapped his arms around him, careful of the tube in his neckline.

"Where am I?" the question was faint but heard.

"Somewhere safe," Wheeljack replied, making a small sheepish wave to the child as he gained his attention.

"There is no one here that will hurt you," continued Ratchet, meeting his gaze with his own blue optics with a smile. "Not on our watch."

"Even made you a new frame! Built it myself. Your other one was much too outdated for your age." Wheeljack's optics lit up in wonder. "What do you think of it? Pretty nifty, huh? Taller?"

The youngling hadn't even noticed until it was pointed out to him that his body did feel more loose than it had been before. He looked to the leader curiously, and Optimus nodded before setting him down on the berth, keeping a hand settled next to him for comfort. He glanced at the other two wearily, each of which looked on expectantly. He backed up to touch the hand that was behind him and began expecting his own body. The frame fit him snuggly, hiding his once exposed circuits, wirings, and delicate innards. His movements had more free reign and felt fluid-like, the metal encased his protoform with even grooves and smooth looking protrusions, much like his old one. He felt his helm, and quickly took in the differences. He could feel the small horns that his head has always had, and even small guard cuffs running along the sides of his face that melded to the helmet. Every single piece of new metal was colored a soft silver, also like his last one and each was connected to his nerves much better than the last.

A viewing glass was suddenly put in front of him, large enough to where he could see his entire body. The mechling looked up into the sheepish face of Wheeljack. After looking at himself again, wearily ignoring the other mech, he nodded. "I-I like it."

The engineer grinned behind his faceplate, the action showing with the narrowing of his optics. He laughed, intriguing the youngling by the synchronizing lights from the head fins. "Good, you just let me know if there is anything you want changed on it otherwise and I will see what I can do for you," he put the viewing glass on the counter behind him. "The name is Wheeljack, by the way. I helped weld you back up."

"Which is holding together quite nicely," Ratchet butted in, a datapad in his hand. Wheeljack stepped aside to allow the mech to approach the youngling. "I am Ratchet, the one who has been monitoring your vitals and healing process. Surprisingly you were none too damaged when we found you. Besides the fractured leg strut which was an easy fix."

"And I am sorry to be the cause of that accident," Optimus had finally spoken, quickly grabbing the mechlings' attention. "I was not aware that you would be in such a place, and I should have taken more care upon my appearance to you, Prime or no," he smiled.

"It is... okay..." the mech paused, memories from before appearing in his minds' eye. He watched the events happen and was suddenly in a panic. "The femme!" he shouted, looking everywhere around the room. "Where is the femme? Is she okay?"

The full grown mechs each looked to one another in surprise at the younger's outburst. "Calm down there, youngling," Wheeljack spoke. "She is... She will be okay."

There was a pregnant pause in which the mechling looked into their optics before he whispered. "You are lying."

"Now listen, little mech. The femme is doing fine. She is under constant surveillance and is taking her time to heal," Ratchet insisted.

"Than where is she?" The mechling probed. "If she is healing than I can see her, right?" Silence. "I want to see her!"

Ratchet, having to deal with temperamental or impatient patients nearly every cycle, set down his datapad on the berth. "You can see her as soon as I finish evaluating your condition." The youngling went to protest but was interrupted. "And in exchange for your own patience, I will not hold you back from seeing her for however long you like, deal?" The scrunched expression on the young's face indicated that he didn't like the negotiation, but after some obvious thought put into it, he nodded. He wanted to see how she was.

It didn't take long for the process to finish, questions being answered to the status to some of his basic functions, simple maneuverability assessments, and a coding check. Ratchet, once done, hummed in thought. "A lot of your coding has been thoroughly upgraded while in stasis, however, because of your age, new coding must be integrated as you are online."

"We will see to it that it gets done within the quartex," Wheeljack tapped at his own datapad. "I have to make sure everything is up to date."

"Can I see her now?" The mech asked cautiously, armor plates fluffing out in worry, yet again surprising the three. His psych should be more hindered from however long he was out there on his own and with whatever loss he had suffered through (no one was without a loss on Cybertron), he should be caring for himself, selfish and isolated, as is the norm for civilians thrown into something they find hard to understand, but instead put everything towards this one femme whom he didn't know.

"Patience, little one. We will hold to our promise," Optimus smiled kindly, poking the smaller mech with a digit to the helm. "But first, may we know your designation?"

The little bot huffed, trilling and warbling in frustration despite the promise he made. None were surprised, he was a youngling after all, still learning patience and restraint. But nonetheless, he answered in a suddenly soft voice. "My creators titled me..." And upon mention of his creators came the expected sadness. His body slouched, optics dimmed, lowering to avoid the older mechs, and he let out a sorrowful chirp. "I am Bumblebee." His fists clenched, and before any of them could reassure the poor youngling, he snapped his head up with bright optics and stared at them all. "Please, let me see her now. I have to see if she is all right."

Determination, stubbornness, and a sense of responsibility radiated off the mechling in waves. Emotions Optimus was all too familiar with, as were any of the Autobots. But because he was a youngling, as a Prime, he had every right to deny him from seeing something so morbid, to prevent him from keeping his hopes up upon a full recovery of the femme. He would protect an innocent mind with everything that he was if he could help it. But in this time and age, however it might have seemed to them, innocence was a hard thing to come by. Death, battles, screaming, slaughter, vandalism. It all polluted the economy extremely fast, making bots stand up to face what was right, or deal what was wrong in a very short time span.

"How do you know this femme?"

"I do not. But I found her, so she is mine to take care of."

A quick glance to his ally's, seeing their equally involved thought processes, he knew his answer. The youngling, Bumblebee as he was now called, deserved to know what was happening, and no amount of protecting him from something directly in front of the eye would change his mind set, that much was certain. It was a now or never moment. The longer one held off the truth, the worse the outcome will be in the future.

With a groan of gears, and hiss of hydraulics as he moved, Optimus nodded down at the bot. "Very well. We will take you to see her. But I must warn you that you may not like the circumstances."

"I do not care. I want to see her."

"Sit down than, so that I can unhook the feed," Ratchet commanded, tone gruff. "Wheeljack, meet us there. Make sure there are no changes."

"Of course." And the scientist disappeared with no complaints.

Bumblebee sat down, legs curled in front of him as he twiddled with his hands. When Ratchet came over to tilt his head, a slight discomforting pain jabbed at him when the needle was removed, but he made no sound to show this. A few quick scans to monitor how his body dealt with the change, all coming back positive, and he was let go. The silver bot stood and turned to Optimus with determined optics.

"I want to be there, even if she is about to offline," his fists clenched, and anger broiling over that no youngling should know. "I cannot abandon anyone again."

* * *

_**xX-Xx**_

* * *

In another room down the wide hallway, a sparkling keened weakly through the comatose stasis she was put in. Memories flooded her processor, images burning themselves into her dark optics, and pain riddling her entire body.

This is what Wheeljack came into, though thankfully not all the time. Sometimes she'd be silent and unmoving, how a normal patient should act when put under. The fact that she can make noise and move the tiniest bit unnerved him and set questions off. How was it possible for this tiny femme, no more than three histers in height, to overcome an induced stasis. Why weren't the nanites recovering the lesions on her most sensitive workings and gears? How had she even survived with this much damage done to her person?

It was irritating, confusing, and worrying.

Wheeljack came to her berth, looking over the protoform that held together the broken lines. Armor was not an option, hindering any future progress to her health. A whine broke through her vocoder, and he set a digit on her arm, the other hand coming to tap a few commands on the monitor to make her more comfortable. It was all he could do until they found a way to fix her.

He just hoped it was soon.

* * *

_**xX-Xx**_

* * *

_**Author's Note:**__ Chapter two is finally done! :D Holy crap! It's been a year since I last updated this thing, but I'm working on that, I swear! I hop back and forth between works depending on what I'm in the mood to type. Any who, I hope everyone likes it. I'm setting an entire new plate down with this, more structured and not so cliche as my other was. For all my previous readers that is familiar with my old chapters (if you're still there) I hope you like the changes. I sure do! Please review for me! I like everyone's feedback! Questions to be answered might help me write faster! OwO Also, the whole no contractions thing in their speech is on purpose. You guys can contract words all you want but the Transformers will not until they meet humans._

_*Trithillium - A much stronger and more resilient Cybertronian alloy than any other known metal to their species and is a very rare element. _

_Ironhide is the only known mech to have this metal fused with his protoform, but I figured that Optimus should have a bit too from his reformat from A3 (Alpha Trion for those of you who don't know). The sparkling is going to be explained sooner or later on how she obtained hers as well :D_

_**Cybertronian History 101**_

_When Unicron then learned to transform his planetary form even further, into a gigantic robot form, Primus adapted the idea to suit his own ends—rather than transforming his own body, he would create small beings that would be able to change their shape, like Unicron. After performing a "test run" on the moon of Protos, where he successfully created a transforming robotic being, he birthed from his own body a group of thirteen sentient robots that possessed the ability to change shape. These were the thirteen original Transformers, each one infused with a fragment of Primus's life essence known as a spark. The Thirteen were Primus's soldiers in his war with Unicron, which came to its seeming end during a climactic battle in which one of the Thirteen, Megatronus Prime, who would forever afterwards be known as the Fallen, betrayed Primus and became an acolyte of Unicron. The battle ended when the Fallen and Unicron were sucked into a black hole and disappeared from reality. With Unicron gone for now, Primus entered an eons-long slumber, his self-imposed sleep preventing Unicron from detecting him through the mental link the brothers shared. The Transformer race grew, and Primus fell into the realm of legend, with a portion of his power, the Matrix of Leadership, handed down through the generations, serving as the Transformers' ever-present link to their creator._


End file.
